


Ruin through Misguided Polyandry

by hoepai



Category: Wuthering Heights - Emily Brontë
Genre: Crack, F/F, M/M, Other, its a good pick me up but its just serious enough to not be pure, its a good story i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-10 06:24:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14731631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoepai/pseuds/hoepai
Summary: PROMPT: Wuthering Heights but Heathcliff and only Heathcliff speaks in iambic pentameter. Death is a girl and everyone is, therefore, gay.Slow burn, so slow that no one even knows they’re burningLike a frog boiling itself alive probablyWho knows!EDIT: (this was a fanfic I wrote in lieu of writing an essay)





	Ruin through Misguided Polyandry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JosieRuby1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JosieRuby1/gifts), [I_am_Ruby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_Ruby/gifts).



Heathcliff skulked about the sides of Thrushcross Grange, making sure to make himself unknown when passing by the windows. Any flicker of light that was lit in the estate was carefully observed by him, any creak in the floorboards was taken note of. Yet, despite his extraneous efforts, Heathcliff was still left in the literal dark.

His dear Cathy could be dead for all he knew, laying somewhere inside the walls he was shut off from. He drew in a quick breath,

“ _On Death’s command, she’ll, on knees, kneel and bow,_

_But hell! I’d but rather die beside her now._

_Instead, my life’s robbed once and then once more,_

_Because she’s doomed to Death’s seduction, whore!”_

Heathcliff spewed, snarling at nothing in particular. He had grown absolutely livid, partially as a result of Death claiming his lover but mainly because he had forgotten his notepad all the way at Wuthering Heights so he couldn’t jot down the hot bars he had just spat on the sullen grey soil. A window squeaked open.

“Who goes?” a silhouette of a man said suddenly from an open window and out into the shadows that possessed Heathcliff. The brightness of the man’s light nearly caused him to flinch and hiss harshly at the man, however, the revelation of the man’s identity quickly paused his thoughts.

“Who _goes?”_ the man said again. This time he held out his candle past the window, causing the light to nearly touch Heathcliff’s own forbidden skin.

“ _It is I, but I’m afraid, it’s not my,_

_Time to ‘go’, but Cathy’s to say “goodbye’."_

He said to, what he could recognize by voice to be, Edgar Linton.

“Oh hush you, devil!” Edgar said, “I thought I had banished you from prowling among these parts! Must I shoot a hole in your head to free space in your mind to understand?” Edgar threatened.

Now, there was a point in Heathcliff’s life where he would have spat a painfully long verse of poetics on Edgar’s sorry ass just to spite his ears and mind, but he had no reason to curse him any longer. No, Heathcliff needn’t bother to be envious of what he knew was a mere societal contract between _his_ Cathy and that Edgar Linton. It was just mere marriage. What they had was fleeting, unimportant, and nothing in comparison to his real “soul bond” with Catherine. However, Heathcliff knew far too well to settle at ease at this fact.

Death was the true antagonist in his _“feud for phallic fun”_ with his lover. Death had slowly crept up on Catherine and firmly wrapped its hand around her soul. The very soul, mind you all, that Heathcliff had very _obviously_ marked and claimed at his arrival.

“ _Then shoot me if you must, but let me IN!_

_The devil Death is there to commit sin!_

_Sin! I say! No shot can do me wronger!_

_In fact, come down and see just what is stronger!”,_

Heathcliff said.

However, to his surprise and probably due to Edgar Linton’s own worry and concern for Catherine, Edgar opened the window by only an inch or two. That was enough of an invitation as any for Heathcliff, however, so he sprung at the opportunity to seize Edgar’s uncertainty before he had any time to protest.

After prying open the window and lunging through it in a quick powerful move, Heathcliff was suddenly standing tall and looming over the unexpecting Edgar. Edgar was quick to straighten his back.

“Now listen here! You may be proven stronger than I but that is only because of your extensive practice through your history of violence. But I tell you, tonight is an exception to our clashing,” Edgar said causing one of Heathcliff’s dark furrowed brows to lift.

“You know as well as I do that Catherine is dying because of you. But now you speak of ‘death’ as if it’s tangible. Is it just your theatrics causing you to personify death like this, or do you have reason to believe in something else?” Edgar asked with genuine concern. His posture was still very defensive and rough but also willing, showing a different side of himself that surprised Heathcliff.

“ _I’m quite acquainted with the Reaper Death,_

_For She seduces victims out of breath,_

_For She can make a deathbed out of all,_

_For She makes victims quickly rise to fall._

_To “little deaths” and “death” they reconciled!_

_And Death chose Cathy next to be defiled!”,_

Heathcliff explained hurriedly.

“I wish you could speak normally every once in a while,” Edgar said before promptly turning and heading to Catherine’s room, barely looking over his shoulder once to see if Heathcliff was following. He knew he would.

Catherine’s door was, of course, still locked and Edgar looked at Heathcliff expectantly. In their moment of silence, they could hear Catherine talking to (what Edgar _used_ to think was) herself. If all that Heathcliff stated reigned true, then all the nights of agonizing moans heard from Catherine’s room at night suddenly held a different meaning.

Heathcliff grew incredibly impatient and decided to kick open the door. Unfortunately for everyone, the door did not budge from its lock but instead the wood itself split at impact. Heathcliff, in not wanting to scratch his expensive rich man shoes, decided to instead bang his head against the door until the door’s hole was big enough to crawl through.

 

Through the door they saw Catherine and Lady Death herself, engaged in an intense battle in bed. “Catherine!” Edgar said accusingly in seeing the sight they had beheld. Catherine was bare in the flesh and pinned against the sheets.

She shrieked terribly loud for somebody who most likely had noticed the constant banging on her door from Heathcliff’s bleeding head for the past 20 minutes. She sprawled her naked body closed shamefully on her bed as she dramatically held up a hand to her forehead (as if to faint).

Then there stood Death, in all her impeccable glory and unnamable charm. Her glooming doll-like glass eyes embedded in her skull were bright compared to her black robes and grey skeleton figure. It’s something about those gothic bone-thin chicks that get a guy really, well, a guy and _Catherine,_ that is.

“ ** _IT'S TOO LATE._** ” said Death. In her voice rang a symphony of chimes and sharp shrieking, dreadful sounds when alone but almost harmonic with her vocals. Edgar quickly grew terrified and shrunk against the wall panels.

Catherine looked reluctantly bashful in that moment, afraid to continue what she had already succumbed to.

“ _How now, tell me, how you two can have fun?_

_While, although She’s all bone, She’s missing one.”_

Heathcliff said fearlessly proud, believing in his own manhood to win over his lover when his love was not enough. However, because Catherine was feeling lightheaded in confusion and from the throes of passion, she did not have the brain capacity to respond.

_“Now, Edgar! Why not shoot her head to free,_

_Some space! Relieve her of this treachery!_

_Oh my, how Death had degraded her quick,_

_And tricked this lady out of wanting dick!!”_

“ _**Why must you talk in iambic pentameter** **?**_ ” Death asked, her voice ringing.

_“Why? You ask as if you’ve thought of nothing?_

_I swear to you I-”_

“ ** _Twas but a rhetorical question, you untamable twat. The only twat I care about at the moment is laying right in front of me._** " Death said. She then lowered herself onto the bed of Catherine and kissed her deeply. As she pulled away Catherine’s breath was seen trailing off of Death’s lips. A low ringing sound rumbled throughout the floors as Death quite literally sucked the life out of her body.

Heathcliff yelled harshly against the painfully increasing rings aided with sounds of a thousand chimes at once.

_“ON DEATH’S COMMAND YOU, ON KNEES, KNEEL AND BOW,_

_TO HELL WITH YOU IF I DON’T DIE RIGHT NOW!_

_DON’T LET MY LIFE BE ROBBED NOW THEN ONCE MORE,_

_DON’T YOU SUCCUMB TO DEATH IN BED, YOU WHORE!”_

As Heathcliff recited his earlier poem at Catherine’s paling body, Edgar had finally moved from his fixed position against the wall to grab and brace Heathcliff back from touching Catherine. There was absolutely nothing the two of them could have done now except for more harm. Edgar had feared that Heathcliff would only bruise Catherine’s dying body in lieu of any actual help. Heathcliff arrogantly thrashed against his grasp but he surprisingly wasn’t strong enough to break free from his hold, it was almost as if his strength was fading along with Catherine’s.

Edgar’s hands tightened on Heathcliff’s shoulders.

“ _ **IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE.**_

_**IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE.** _

_**IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE.** _

_**IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE. IT'S TOO LATE.** _ ”

They heard Death chant although her jaw was not moving to speak. Death was clearly relishing in devouring Catherine Linton’s soul in front of an unwilling crowd, basking in the attention and the absolute pleasure of stealing a valuable life.

 

In an instant, the ringing was over. Only leaving remnants of pain and lingering chimes in Edgar and Heathcliff's’ ears as Catherine lay motionless against her bed. Death had disappeared. She had no reason to stay now in having fulfilled her goal, leaving only the shell of Catherine behind as a relic, a reminder.

After a moment of shock and pause, Heathcliff shoved Edgar off of him abruptly. He looked downwards for an almost unnoticeable instant, as if uncertain on how to react to the recent happenings, but decisively, after had seeing Catherine’s eyes glassy and greyed over, began to weep. He wept and wept for nearly hours. Edgar had no mind to attempt to react properly for the likes of _Heathcliff_ so he did the thing felt most natural, he sat down where he stood and turned his eyes away from Catherine.

Heathcliff’s wailing only grew unashamedly louder and louder as the hours past, only speaking words when poetry happened to find his mouth. Unfortunately for him, his wits were at an end after facing tragedy, leading his poetics to be as terrible as ever (but no less theatrical), Heathcliff cried into the night,

“ _Lord WHY had Death be nimble, Death be quick,_

 _WHY had Death jumped over the candlestick?!?!?!”_.


End file.
